


Graceless

by gammacru (distantgreen)



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Character Study, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 10:55:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17344022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantgreen/pseuds/gammacru
Summary: In principle, on the surface, he knows what it looks like - he knows the shape of his lips and the sound of the words if he were ever to try, but he does not know how to put intent and weight behind it.





	Graceless

**Author's Note:**

> *tiptoes in*
> 
> hello I am new on board this ship, please no bully
> 
> fic is set post-TLJ and will probably make no sense once IX is released  
>  ~~tbf it probably doesn’t even make much sense now but I tried *sob* they’re a mess and I just want them to be happy but I don't know how to do it ok~~

Hux is the first and the only who dares to come speak to Ren directly, after the spectacle on Crait.

On the occasions that Ren can even be found, no one has gone out of their way to stand in his presence. He has taken the title of Supreme Leader, and even without his colossal failure on Crait, he finds that he doesn’t know what to do with himself or where to be. He spends most of his waking hours training alone; the routine and solitude should be familiar to him, but now the emptiness is even more empty than before. Whatever brief bond Snoke had forged between him and Rey seems to have dissipated after their final shared vision on Crait; Snoke himself is gone as well; only Luke’s absence is unmarked, since the man had kept himself well-hidden even before his passing. Now, whenever Ren meditates and reaches out with the Force, he finds absolutely nothing waiting for him. He tries to tell himself that it doesn’t matter, that he isn’t lonely, but he finds his knuckles white with strain after every unwelcome vision of a crying, dark-haired young boy.

When the training exhausts itself as a means of distraction, he goes and sits in the makeshift throne room that he’s adopted on their current ship, nowhere near as grand as Snoke’s was, but it’s serviceable and gives him a place to brood. And brood he does, though he would never say the word aloud, as it would give Hux too much satisfaction to hear Ren admit it. He claimed himself Supreme Leader because it felt right at the time, because he wants to sweep away whatever archaic sensibilities are left in this galaxy and build something new and remarkable on top of it, but the reality that has snuck into his conscience since Crait is that he is now, distressingly, burdened with responsibility. He had led the Knights of Ren for years and that was one thing, but to manage this aspiring empire was something else altogether.

And so it is, in spite of how he and Hux’s existences seem to grate against one another like two cruisers passing too close together, their hulls crying out in a painful, metallic scream, that he is almost grateful the first time Hux stalks into his throne room after the fleet has pulled away from Crait. The general stops at a respectable distance from the chair where Ren is sitting, and the first impression that crosses Ren’s mind is pain.

“Supreme Leader.”

He’s under some sort of medication, Ren can tell from the way the sensation is dull around the edges, but it isn’t gone completely. He’s surprised, in fact, that Hux still walks with the same flawless posture and dignity that he always has, given the extent of his wounds and the way in which they are straining his body.

Ren feels something unfamiliar twist in his gut, and every fiber of his being tells him that he should not feel it, in the same way that his whole life has been a canvas of uncalled for emotions.

“General Hux.”

“We have regrouped what vessels are available, and we are currently evaluating what remains of our ground forces. One of our most pressing tasks at the moment is to find a suitable replacement for Captain Phasma who can take up her responsibilities with the troopers. If you would like to provide your input, we can request it once we have compiled a list of our most promising candidates.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Ren says, waving one hand dismissively. “I leave the decision in your capable hands. I trust you will choose someone worthwhile.”

Hux’s mouth tightens at the unspoken implication that he will be sharing the burden of responsibility for any future blunders committed by the new captain. Ren wonders if only he understands that this is not an insult; he knows the extent of Hux’s abilities, and to put any less faith in them would be the greater disrespect.

“Very well. I will inform you when we have selected an officer. I trust you will take this time to carefully consider our next course of action.”

Ren is too distracted to mind the sneer on Hux’s face as he spits his words out, doesn’t even bother with his customary Force choke or verbal threats. His mind is still lingering on how badly he damaged Hux, and he can’t understand why he is paying more attention to that than to the tasks that are currently in front of them. Hux is a valuable general to be sure, and Ren sees this more clearly than ever now that the First Order is his to command. He is beginning to understand the use of people with Hux’s abilities (though he can think of no other in the Order whose abilities are anything comparable), and he convinces himself that this is where his concern stems. He has to keep the Order together, and he needs the right parts to do so. Hux is a valuable part, and that is what he tells himself now, even as Hux is discussing Phasma, even as Ren feels nothing in her passing, even as he knows that he would not be sitting here so calmly had Hux’s back been broken beyond repair when Ren threw him aside and had Hux been the one that needed replacing.

The silence must have gone on too long as Ren sat lost in his thoughts, because he’s drawn out of them by the sensation of Hux’s increased impatience, a steadily mounting desire to be dismissed so he can leave Ren’s presence and return to tasks that are both more comfortable and more comforting than wasting his time with this petulant child of a Force user. Ren rubs one gloved hand across his temple and turns his gaze directly to Hux’s face. The general’s features are as impassive and schooled as he’s ever seen them, and even the agitation that seethes beneath that barrier is subdued compared to what Ren has come to expect from most humans. Still, in spite of Hux’s dissatisfaction with the seemingly pointless wait, he continues to sit in silence, merely watching the general and saying nothing more to him. Normally when he finds himself at a loss for words, he turns to the Force to give him some avenue of communication, but even that is yielding nothing now.

Kylo Ren knows how to break, hurt, threaten, maim, kill, slice, rip, dismiss, discard. He knows how to take his lightsaber apart and put it back together again with his eyes closed. He knows how to suffer, how to endure physical strain, how to work himself to near death and back, how to draw upon the powers of a mystical energy that only a handful of people in the galaxy are able to connect with.

But in this moment he is acutely aware of the fact that he does not know how to apologize.

In principle, on the surface, he knows what it looks like -

_\- Han; a sheepish, lost expression on his face, while all he sees of Leia is her stiff and unwavering shoulders, a blurred shape fuming in the shadows; “I’m sorry” -_

_\- Leia; loose strands of brown hair tickling her skin, a weak breeze doing nothing to ease the burning in her son’s heart as she watches Ben Solo walk away for the last time; “I’m sorry” -_

_\- Luke; fear, failure, and fatigue written across his features, the pressures of too many expectations and the weight of too many years bubbling to the surface in a moment of emotion and vulnerability; the words ghost from his lips even as Ben is already reaching for his own lightsaber and it is too late; “I’m sorry” -_

\- he knows the shape of his lips and the sound of the words if he were ever to try, but he does not know how to put intent and weight behind it. Perhaps the art of apologizing is even more rare than the art of using the Force. Ren finds the thought humorous as soon as it crosses his mind, and he can’t prevent the bitter smile that tugs briefly at the corners of his lips.

It doesn’t escape the notice of Hux, however, who is watching Ren with an increasingly intent gaze. Ren can sense his sudden urge to snap something rude, and the grind of his jaw as he prevents himself from doing so.

“Supreme Leader,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “May I ask what you are finding so amusing about our current situation?”

“I’m sorry,” Ren murmurs, and watches the surprise in Hux’s eyebrows. It’s a start, a toddling attempt, and he’s only apologizing for the momentary amusement on his face, not for the damage; he is fairly certain he still doesn’t deserve the opportunity to apologize for that. “Just an idle thought.”

Ren rises from the throne ( _his_ throne, now), and crosses the distance between him and Hux with a few brisk, lanky strides. The general looks up into Ren’s bare face, masking the confusion and wariness that Ren is able to feel nonetheless. There are deep circles beneath his eyes, and Ren wonders how long they’ve been there – since Starkiller; since Hux became a general; since he was a rising star at the academy. He has an urge to run his thumbs across Hux’s cheekbones as if to wipe the dark smudges away, but he refrains.

“Ren?” It’s a quiet, clipped question, but bold in its lack of title. Ren raises one hand and places it carefully against the small of Hux’s back, where he knows the damage is the worst. Immediately he feels the tiny tremor of fear in Hux’s mind, and a brief flash of memory pulses into Ren’s thoughts, a body being flung helplessly across a control room.

On the few occasions that he had tried to analyze his relationship with Hux, he had always thought of the man as a thorn in his side, nothing more than a nuisance meant to test his resolve. But he sees it differently now, as he feels out the sensation of life and blood that lies beyond several layers of fabric; Hux is a thorn embedded so deeply in a wound that he is afraid to pull it out, afraid that he may bleed out in the sudden emptiness. Its presence may be painful, but its absence would be deadly.

“You will continue to see the medbay regularly so that they may attend to your wounds.”

Hux only blinks quietly at the seemingly unexpected topic.

“If you find even the most minute thing lacking in their treatment, you will come directly to me and report it. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Supreme Leader,” Hux answers, his tone automatic, but Ren can see something else unnamed that tries to scurry away and hide itself behind his well-trained eyes. He thinks that Hux probably doesn’t trust him, and he knows that Hux shouldn’t trust him. The man had been ready to pull a blaster on him, the last time the two of them were in a room like this together. For their entire lives, people had been putting guns to Kylo Ren and Ben Solo’s heads, and he had thought that if no one was going to trust him anyway, he would become a beast and give them ample reason not to. So he had choked Hux then for his insolence, because this was the kind of beast Kylo Ren had made of himself.

He wonders if the entirety of the First Order does not trust their Supreme Leader, and he wonders why this never mattered to him before. To build things up carefully, to inspire trust and respect from those beneath him, is another thing that Ren does not know how to do. His grandfather had worked with Palpatine beside him, but now Ren has no one, with the exception, perhaps, of General Hux.

“If that is all, I will make my way back to the bridge.”

Hux’s voice pulls Ren from his thoughts again, like arms dragging him up and out of an ocean, tempestuous waves still ringing in his ears. The general’s voice is, for a moment, uncharacteristically tired, as if Hux doesn’t have the strength to hide weakness even from Ren, the most dangerous man left alive in the galaxy. He knows that Hux probably would have preferred to save face if he could have, so in his own uncharacteristic slip he doesn’t take advantage of the moment to bite at the exposed neck, letting it pass without comment instead. The taste of Snoke’s deception is still harsh in the back of his throat, and he has no more interest in betrayal for today.

“Go,” he says, his hand falling away and his broad, black back turning to Hux, who says nothing in response. Ren hears a sigh, and the slight shuffling noise of clothing being straightened out, before Hux’s footsteps lead him away and out of the room.

He has apologized for nothing yet, but maybe in time, he will learn how.

**Author's Note:**

> sry for trespassing on the evil space boys ship
> 
> see you around


End file.
